


No Quarter

by MissViolet



Series: The "No" Series [3]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-20
Updated: 2010-07-20
Packaged: 2017-10-10 16:51:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/101946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissViolet/pseuds/MissViolet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during House's temporary recovery. When House offers to teach Wilson how to fight, Wilson discovers his kinky nature, leading to after-hours exam-room naughtiness. Warning for kinky fight-sex but nothing too extreme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Quarter

Wilson woke from his lunchtime nap slowly, enjoying each stage of increasing awareness, the picture gradually coming into focus. Beyond his balcony, an old elm dripped autumn leaves in the sunny air. Often he awoke with that oh-no feeling; startled and restless, but today the office sofa was a drowsy haven. He hadn't a thought for his wives, patients, Cuddy and her watchdog ways. He was thinking only of himself, of his good fortune, and of House. He stood, stretched his arms, then stumbled as he took a step and fell sprawling to the floor. He climbed to his feet, tripped again and fell flat, swearing. He heard House's satisfied laugh from across the room.

"OK, so you tied my shoelaces together. You're the man, House, score one for you." Wilson was a little annoyed. He'd awoken feeling refreshed and optimistic, and hitting the hard floor and crawling around for his friend's amusement hadn't been part of his game plan.

"I thought you'd be used to this by now. Don't tell me this has never happened to you before?"

"Not since grade school. I suppose nothing like that's ever happened to you?" he asked dryly.

"Nope, the other kids left me alone." House grew quiet, and Wilson wondered if he meant they let him be or left him...alone. "I was 6'2" at 15, and my dad's a mean SOB. That probably had something to do with it. Plus, I know how to fight. Didn't anyone ever teach you how?"

"You've met my dad. Can you picture him taking me out behind the barn for a few rounds of fisticuffs?"

"I guess that's one advantage of having a dysfunctional family. My dad was not shy with the strap either. I learned how to save my own ass. I could show you a few pointers," said House casually.

Wilson wasn't especially eager for House to teach him how to fight, but he sensed that House was dying to do so. It was just another thing, like running, and skateboarding, that House wanted to do simply because he could. "Sure," said Wilson, hoping his enthusiastic tone of voice wasn't too forced.

"OK, let's meet at 6 on the South Lawn. Soft grass is better for the takedowns, but eventually you should learn to fall on concrete."

Wilson grimaced at the idea of being knocked down onto the pavement, and was about to protest, but House was already walking away speedily.

* * *

Wilson wasn't keen on the idea of fighting with House. He didn't think his friend would stand a chance against him, not after years of hobbling around, with his poor diet, lack of exercise, and general laziness. House had been running a lot since his amazing recovery, and already he was losing his soft edges, becoming hard and fit. But Wilson prided himself on his physical condition. He never missed a workout, at least 3 times a week without fail. Racquetball, tennis, and if he was pressed for time, the treadmill in the hospital gym.

But he had underestimated House, who was a cheater, and therefore had an advantage over Wilson, who was fair. There was no question that Wilson was in better shape, had more strength and stamina, but House was sneaky and underhanded. The first thing he did was trip Wilson up with his cane.

"What are you doing with that, anyway?" said Wilson from the ground. The grass was soft, but he was annoyed. "You're walking fine now." Wilson stood up, determined not to let House's cheating ways irritate him.

"It's a decoy," said House. "Come closer, and I'll show you a few pointers." Wilson approached House, and when he was inches away, House simply clocked him. Wilson gasped and took a step backwards, dabbing gingerly at his stinging face

"If you can remember only one thing about fighting, remember that there are no rules, no fair fights. It's an ugly business," said House. "So quit feeling sorry for yourself and let's see what you've got."

Wilson had the vague sense that House was taunting him, but he didn't care. His temper was up, and he came at House with real anger. He was surprised to realize that he wanted to punch House in his arrogant face; he wanted to see him stagger backwards and admit that Wilson was stronger, faster, more fit. He took a swing at House, who dodged it with surprising agility. Wilson missed completely, and was still swinging as House grabbed him from behind.

"Don't let your opponent manipulate your emotions," said House, arms around Wilson's midsection, pinning him. Wilson sank a bit, just enough to loosen House's tight hold, then he twisted himself and broke free.

"Nice mov – ouch!" House yelped as Wilson punched him right in the mouth.

"You don't know everything, House," said Wilson. "Maybe I just let you teach me how to fight to make you feel good, ever think of that?" Wilson knew he was taunting his friend, acting childish, and gloating at his one good hit. Wilson was momentarily shocked to see a thin line of blood trickling down House's lips, but he was also satisfied. They were even.

House was doubled over, holding his mouth, and Wilson felt an instant flash of guilt. He approached House, but cautiously.

"I think you broke a tooth," said House miserably. Wilson put a hand on his shoulder, and instantly House tripped him up again with that damned cane.

"You've never heard of once bitten, twice shy?" said House victoriously. "This could be a cane, a knife, a gun, or just a much bigger guy with a bigger temper. Don't look for an even playing field or for the other guy to give you a break—" House said, shoving Wilson back down to the ground as he attempted to rise.

"Fine," said Wilson, annoyed. "I get it, life isn't fair."

"So are you going to get up again, or lay there feeling sorry for yourself?" asked House with a wicked grin.

Wilson began to rise to his feet, and House moved closer with clear intentions. But at the last moment, instead of standing up fully, Wilson used his rising weight to pull House down, then sitting on top of him, and suddenly gaining the upper hand.

"What are you going to do now?" he asked smugly.

"Bide my time. Fighting on the ground is a matter of patience," said House, but he was twisting his hips, trying to find a little room to work his way out. Wilson had him pinned, was straddling him, in fact, pinning his wrists to the ground, but House was unbelievably fluid in his hips. He wiggled against Wilson, trying to rotate himself so that he could escape, creating a little space, but Wilson had a few pounds on House, and only leaned more heavily to keep him trapped.

"You can't move, what are you going to do now?" asked Wilson again. He was surprised to discover that he liked this situation; House wriggling beneath him, panting and breathless, completely at his mercy...Wilson felt a familiar tightening in his groin and then, like a switch being flipped, every contact with House's body suddenly took on a whole new meaning.

"I'll work my way free, you'll see," said House, but his voice expressed doubt. Wilson had outfoxed him, had taken to the spirit of fighting dirty with more enthusiasm than he had anticipated, and now House was well and truly trapped.

"I won't let you," said Wilson, leaning close, and House was still trying to rotate his hips as Wilson bent down to kiss him. House was surprised, this was unexpected, he turned away automatically, but Wilson was persistent. He found his lips, tasting the blood from the small cut, he kissed him, trying to force a response, and though House was cold, his lips motionless, Wilson was hot and eager for it. He liked feeling in control, pinning House so closely he could feel every breath, every frantic twist of his hips, but he wanted more, and House wouldn't keep still.

"Let me kiss you," he said urgently, and let go of House's left wrist to grab his hair, to force his head back a bit for better access. And with one arm free, House suddenly rocked his hips, slipped his arm between Wilson's leg and his own waist, and propelled Wilson off of him with a dramatic thud.

House stood up. "That's no way to fight," he said offhandedly. "You let your guard down." He picked up his cane and began to walk towards the hospital.

Wilson was glad his friend couldn't see him, because his face was flushed red, with embarrassment, and also with dissipated lust. He stood up and walked after House, trying to catch up, but House was quick. It was all Wilson could do to track him to the elevator, slipping in just as the doors were closing.

"I'm sorry about that" he said hesitantly.

"About what?" said House, as if distracted. But it wasn't really a question. Wilson realized that he knew, that they both knew, exactly what was the topic at hand.

He followed House to the darkened clinic, into an exam room, where House flipped on the lights and began looking through the cabinets. He found a bottle of peroxide, poured some on a cotton ball and dabbed at his cut lip in the mirror over the sink.

"It's not too bad, I think I just nicked you a bit," said Wilson apologetically.

"I know," said House. "Well, did you learn anything?"

Wilson was at a loss for words. He did learn something, but not about fighting. About himself, and heretofore unknown kink of controlling House, taking him...

"I'm sorry," he said again.

"Oh, get off the cross, Wilson."

"I didn't mean to hurt you."

House laughed shortly. "Have you seen your own mug?" He nodded towards the mirror above the sink. Wilson looked and saw a blooming shiner across his left eye, a smudge of blood under his nose. He hurriedly swabbed his face with a damp cotton ball. Wilson sighed heavily and sat on the narrow papered bed, folded his hands, and looked down moodily.

"That's not what this is about." House sat down next to him, quite close, their thighs touching, as if to emphasize the precise cause of Wilson's discomfort. "It's your guilt. You think you forced yourself on me."

"Oh, shut up," said Wilson irritably. He tried to pull away but House caught his wrist and stilled him.

"It wasn't like that," he said, eyes intense, with the short words he reserved for the most serious of topics. "You know I wanted it."

Wilson knew this deep down, but to hear House say it, so quietly and without irony, was a stark confession.

"Then why...why did you stop me?" he asked tentatively, thinking, so it's finally come to it, we're talking about this. "Were you ashamed?" Of being gay, or screwing around with your best friend, or was it the unexpected heat of their schoolyard scrapple? Wilson wasn't sure what he meant.

House gave a short laugh. "Of course I wasn't ashamed. You're forgetting which of us is the Jew."

"Then what was it?"

House was silent for several minutes, until Wilson wondered if he was going to answer. Finally he said, "I'm not that way with chicks, you know."

"Ah, so you don't beat up women. Good to know you weren't slapping Stacy around."

"It's different."

"Different because...I'm a man?"

"No, that's not what I mean. Different because it's you. When you're up, I'm down, when you're down, I'm up. You're telling me you've never noticed?"

Wilson thought back to the happy days of his second marriage, and House's infarction, and of his second divorce, and House's relationship with Stacy. Now that he thought about it, their fortunes appeared to sway in opposition.

"Coincidence," he said uncertainly.

"You can't deny it," House insisted.

Wilson was quiet, for such a long time, House began to regret bringing it up. Finally he said, "Fighting with you, I felt it. Like I couldn't win without hurting you. And I'd rather lose, rather let you do anything to me...."

"So you let me win?" asked Wilson, curiously disappointed.

"I don't know. You just scared me, that's all," said House. House leaned closer, and Wilson wrapped his arm around him, drew him close to kiss him, feeling a momentary hurt as he touched the cut on House's lower lip. All his guilt flared up again, and he kissed House lightly and sweetly, not wanting to push himself, to lose himself in the wanting of it. But secretly he had not forgotten the hot thrill of pinning House, and part of him wanted to do it again, to force him still and inflict unbearable pleasurable until House begged for release....

"Get on top of me," said House, with just a hint of a smile.

Wilson blushed furiously, wondering if House was telepathically reading his fantasy.

"Come on," said House invitingly. He loved making Wilson blush. His fingers played idly with the collar of his shirt, teasingly. Wilson did not need to be asked again. He swung one leg over House, straddling him, feeling a little ridiculous, the two of them on the narrow table, and the only way for them both to fit was to press their bodies as tightly together as possible. He moved House's arms down to his sides, and leaned heavily on him, circling his wrists, pinning him, but now House was liking it, was letting him do it, slightly shifting his hips to accommodate Wilson's weight, enjoying the contact.

"You can take me, the way you wanted to..." whispered House.

"Yeah, I want to," whispered Wilson, and House's express permission made his heart pound in his chest. He kissed him aggressively, not a soft and seductive kiss, a hard kiss that asked nothing, took everything. He wanted House to open his mouth, let him deeper, so he pulled his hair back, to give him greater access. And House responded with passion, groaning pleasurably as Wilson's kisses grew more suggestive and demanding, as he forced his tongue deeper, his body pressed closer, prick stiffening, and House was hot and willing, laid before him, eager for it, oh, yes...Wilson was close to moaning aloud, aching for his friend.

"Do you like it?" he asked House breathlessly, pulling away from his lips. It wasn't even a question; he knew that House liked it; because his eyes blazed, his breath quickened. Wilson slid his hips forward, drawing a soft gasp from House. He braced his arms against House's wrists, had never let them go, liking that House was pinned and immobile. He thought of their last time together; House begging to be sucked off, groaning fuck, yes, and he shivered at the memory. He realized that he wasn't just pinning House to the bed; he had his wrists in a vice grip. He took a deep breath and loosened his grip a little, but a downward glance at House caused all the lust and passion from their earlier fight to flare up again. He thrust his hips forward even harder, drawing a sharp breath from House, creaking the metal framework of the bed.

"You want this?" he asked, rocking his hips into House, to make him feel how hard his cock was already, at just the thought of having him.

"You're creaking," said House, with trace of smugness, because he loved to see Wilson lose control. But he was already breathless, and thrusting his hips upwards to meet Wilson's cock as he rocked against him.

"I don't care," Wilson said, and to prove it, he thrust again, even harder this time, and the metal framework clanged against the wall, House groaned softly as Wilson's hard cock met his own. But it wasn't quite true, Wilson didn't want the night cleaning crew to get suspicious. So he bent to kiss House, to quiet him, keeping his arms pinned, and he didn't bother taking him slowly, he met him with open-mouthed passion, feeling with hot pleasure all the places where their bodies touched, and all the heat of House as he strained upward to meet him.

"I'd like to suck you," he whispered, and oh, God, was his own mouth watering at the thought of sucking him off? He was a little shocked at his dirty talk, but House was oblivious, moaning something unintelligible. Wilson bent to kiss him again, and he was so hot for it, he couldn't control the sounds he was making. Their kisses grew sloppy and desperate. Wilson couldn't still his hips, the contact was just too good. So he slipped his hands down to unfasten House's belt, to unzip him and slip his hands down to find what he was seeking; House was hot and smooth and a little slick in his hands. He stroked him just once, but not gently, just to hear the sharp, startled groan, and then he squeezed his cock more artfully, struggling to be slow and not greedy, with House laid out before him so willingly.

House opened his mouth, lifted his head as far as it could go in his restricted position. To see him straining, wanting him so badly...what a sight! Wilson began to jerk him quickly, his hand squeezing and stroking, studying his friend's reactions, every sigh and twitch, and it was a beautiful sight. Wilson wished it could last forever, but he was eager for it. He stroked him faster, wanting to give the maximum pleasure, to see him come hard, and House's soft cries matched the rhythm of his hand as he stroked and squeezed him.

"Feels so good, ah, Wilson," House drew a long sharp breath, but Wilson stilled his hand, squeezed gently, looking down at House, damp curls, that do-it look in his eyes, and the sight was so delicious that Wilson rocked his own hips forward into the empty air. Oh, but he wanted to make it last...he looked down at House, who glared at him with mouth parted in a silent plea. He jerked House slowly, watching him flinch a little with each stroke, studying his reaction. He stroked him once, just slowly, teasing, then a little harder, collapsing forward, panting hotly into his ear. House was gasping for breath, and with his arm that wasn't pinned, his fingers dug into Wilson's hip with an iron grip, and his eyes were pleading.

"Jimmy," House moaned, hovering on the edge. He was close to coming, jerking his hips as if that could make Wilson stroke faster. Wilson could feel House tensing beneath him, and he knew he was starting to come, and he began to stroke him hard and fast, he wanted to see him go wild, and he didn't disappoint, groaning lustfully as he arched his back to thrust his cock deeper into Wilson's tightened hand.

Wilson stopped again, for sheer wickedness. "You like that?" he asked softly, knowing that he did—another hard quick stroke and House was trembling, his body so tense, he'd surely break.

"Yeah," whispered House, moaning and thrashing with lustful abandon. His body stiffened and the pleasure rippled through him, "Please, just do it."

And Wilson finally let him go, stroking hard, urging him on with naughty words, breathless endearments to come hard, until House stiffened, his hips arched, with a short sob he was spurting into Wilson's hand, thrusting his hips to slide his slickened cock into Wilson's hand, groaning with pleasurable release as his come jetted up his belly, until he finally sank back limp and exhausted.

"God, Jimmy, the way you talk," said House weakly, and he was still panting for breath. He pulled him into a tired kiss. They were almost hanging off the edge of the examination table. "Now let me do it for you," he said, almost shyly, and he reached across, draping his arm over Wilson's hips.

"Later," Wilson said, stilling his hand. He looked at House, flushed and breathless, but he was also weary, from fighting, and coming, his eyes were closed; he was moments from sleep. "Just rest a little," he said, lying down next to him. But at the close contact was like an electrical current. House was sated, exhausted, his arm was draped over Wilson's body, but unmoving. Wilson was still breathless, hot for it, on the other side of the fence. He closed his eyes, his mind full of voluptuous images of House's climax. He unzipped his fly and at the sound, House opened his eyes. Wilson slid his boxers down a little, and he slipped one hand around himself, just holding his cock, re-imaging the scene in his head, the look in House's eyes when he lost control, the way he said _please, just do it_, right before coming with a lascivious groan....

"Are you doing it to yourself?" asked House affectionately.

"Yeah," he answered, stroking himself tightly, and House turned over on his side to watch, eyes were wide-open, looking at Wilson with unconcealed delight. "The way you are, House..." he said, and his hand was flying faster, Wilson moaned freely, his hand was fast on his stiff prick, and too quickly he was racing towards his climax. "It feels so good," he choked out, "watching you come, oh, fuck," and he was shooting come up his belly, groaning with wanton pleasure, stroking slower, but still coming in short little jets, coming for such a long time, until finally his hand slowed, his cock softened, and he relaxed on the narrow bed, resting his head against House's shoulder.

"Mmm, I love it," and House closed his eyes, and Wilson knew what he meant, not _it_, but _you_....how right it was for them to be together, and how good it felt to touch each other, the quiet peace of being side-by-side, sated and well-loved.


End file.
